The Second Shadow
by SableUnstable
Summary: For Harry, Umbridge's detentions have further reaching consequences than he could've ever thought possible. One-shot, Drarry, SLASH.


**The Second Shadow**

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Not even a little bit. Sucks for me.

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**A/N - Because this idea just wouldn't leave me alone, or let me work on anything else. Leave me some love? Yes? Okay. :)**

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Harry Potter, foretold saviour of the wizarding world, was so tired his vision was blurring. It was the last period of the day and he was sitting in the back of the potions classroom, hunched over his bench as he tried desperately to keep his eyes open. He wasn't having much luck. All he wanted to do was pillow his head on his hands and let his exhaustion take him under, but knowing that this wasn't History of Magic and that it would be impossible for him to even _think_ of getting away with it, he had his arm folded across his stomach and was continuously pinching his side under his shirt, hoping that the sharp little pain would keep him from passing out.

Beside him, his best mate was glancing over at him every once in a while, concern in his sky-blue eyes. Ron was pretty much pants at potions, and though Harry wasn't usually any better, the Boy-Who-Lived was even worse today. He couldn't concentrate enough to focus on the ingredients in front of him, let alone the board at the other end of the room. As a result, his lab partner was having to muddle his way through the potion on his own, and the colour of the liquid in his cauldron was stating that he was obviously failing at his task.

The Draught of Peace should have turned a turquoise blue as it neared completion, _not _the deep, dirty, blackish-purple colour Harry and Ron's potion had turned a few moments before.

Harry knew he should be more worried at how their potion looked, just as he should have been worried at his Professor's reaction when he saw said potion, but he just couldn't find it in himself to care. He was just too worn-out.

He blamed Umbitch. And Malfoy, of course. The overblown pink toad seemed to have made him Malfoy's pet project, because the stuck-up blond Slytherin seemed to always be _right there_ whenever he turned around. Harry would leave the common room to head down to breakfast in the morning, and Malfoy would be waiting down the hall, watching him. He would feel those cool grey eyes on him all through his classes, making him twitchy and nervous, so that whatever notes he managed to take wouldn't be legible, and then his new shadow would trail him to lunch, staring at him across the Great Hall as they ate. The eyes on his back would then continue through the afternoon. It was constricting and infuriating, and it left him with next to no free time, because whenever he tried to leave the common room to go do whatever, Malfoy would be waiting.

How could be possibly get _anything_ done when he had a second shadow tailing him everywhere, extinguishing any thoughts of privacy whatsoever?

It would have been easier if Harry could read any sort of expression in the blond's eyes. He was used to seeing scorn and malice with he looked at Malfoy, but now those emotions were conspicuously absent. Any and all emotion was absent, though you couldn't classify his expression as blank. There was _something_ there, something just as powerful as his hate had been, but Harry couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was. It confused him greatly, made him snappy and defensive, and when you added in the fact that he had to lead the DA and lose his shadow to get to the meetings in the process, that Umbitch's detentions had been getting steadily more torturous, and that he wasn't getting any sleep anyway, you had one very tired wizard.

He shook his head and absently rubbed the raw, inflamed writing on his hand as he thought of the reason why he wasn't spending his nights sleeping. His scar was continuously prickling, making sleep hard to achieve, and then when he did fall into the land of nod, he'd be plagued by disturbing dreams. Images of Cedric laughing that quickly changed to Cedric's very dead body, depictions of Wormtail's betrayal, terrifying visions of Voldemort, all of that and more mixed in with the shining image of his parents at the end, and even sometimes…

Heat crept up his cheeks as thoughts of the _other_ type of disturbing dreams he'd been suffering from lately made him flush. He blamed Malfoy again. If those stares hadn't been so bloody _intense-_

"POTTER!"

Harry jerked in his seat, blinking his bleary vision. Merlin, he was tired. He craned his chin up, ignoring the way the world spun as a result, and peered at the enraged Potions Professor.

"Sir?"

"Just what do you think you're doing? Are you such a numbskull that you can't follow simple instructions? You were about to let Weasley make a potentially fatal mistake! Are you so wrapped in yourself that you don't care about the lives of your fellow students?"

Harry blinked, sluggish gaze going to the other side of the table, where it looked like Ron had been about to stir the cauldron – the wrong way. Harry winced, knowing even in his debilitated state that that would probably have caused the potion to explode. Though Snape was probably being overdramatic when he'd said it could kill someone, he, Ron and students at the surrounding benches would've probably ended up in the Hospital Wing.

_But it wasn't me who was about to make that mistake,_ he thought wearily. He didn't say that aloud, however, as saying it wouldn't change a thing. Snape would blame hunger in third world countries on Harry if he could.

"I asked you a question, _Potter._"

"No, sir," Harry answered mulishly. Or at least he tried to. It came out more garbled than anything.

"No, _what?_"

"No, I'm not so wrapped up in myself that I don't care about the lives of my fellow students."

"Well, obviously you are, because you spoilt arrogance was about to…"

He continued to rant, but Harry found that he could no longer concentrate on his words. They seemed to become more and more muffled the longer the Potions Master spoke, and Harry felt his heavy head fall as a headache began to pound viciously in his temples. His mouth went dry, pain flared in his hand and black spots danced in his vision. Swallowing thickly, he forced down the bile that flooded his throat. He'd never been this exhausted before. Maybe he really _was_ going to pass out.

Harry found himself wishing he would. That way, he'd at least get some form of sleep.

A hand slapped violently down on the table and Harry reared back in surprise, almost toppling from his chair.

_What? Oh, right. Snape._

"… since you can't be bothered to listen to me when I'm standing right in front of you, Potter, you can join me in a detention after class! Maybe scrubbing this classroom from top to bottom without magic will make you show some respect for authority!"

"Yes sir," Harry mumbled, his headache tinging his vision red, a nice accompaniment to the black spots. He smiled loopily at the thought and let his body slump. His heart sounded really loud. Was it usually that loud? _Boom, boom, boom._ Pumping blood through his body and raising his body temperature. He was really hot. So hot, and his heart was booming, and oh Merlin, he was going to be sick, and he could _feel _his eyes on him again…

Why did he have to stare all the time?

"Harry, class is over, you've got to go!"

Taking a deep breath and pushing down the churning sickness, Harry pulled himself together, looked up and sent Hermione a tired smile.

"Yeah, I'm going."

The green-eyed wizard got to his feet, paused as he waited for the room to stop spinning, then slowly made his way to the front of the classroom, waving aside both Ron and Hermione when they sent him anxious looks. He knew they were worried about him. Ron was there when he woke screaming from his nightmares, and Hermione was constantly telling him he needed to go see Madam Pomfrey about his hand. Pain flared in it again, making the world fade in and out for a moment, but Harry just breathed through it until his vision stabilized. His hand was fine. It would heal soon enough.

"Sorry mate," Ron muttered to him as he left. Harry shrugged.

"Don't worry about it. I can handle him."

Once the room was empty, Harry stood in front of Snape and held his gaze as the professor sneered at him. He wasn't going to show the git any fear, it would just make things worse.

"Get to work, Potter. Even a big-headed brat like you should be able to get this done in a couple of hours. I'll be- yes, Mr Malfoy?"

Harry snapped his head around and then instantly regretted it as he literally felt his body sway on the spot. Bloody hell. He really needed to get some sleep.

"Professor, Potter and I have a project in Defence to work on," the Slytherin said in a calm voice, and though he was clearing talking to Snape, his eyes were on Harry. That something was back in his gaze, mixed with something else that Harry had been seeing in Ron and Hermione's eyes a lot lately. Harry blinked and tried to get his fuzzy mind to work.

Malfoy was _worried _about him?

"Do you now. Well, you'll have to work on it later. Mr Potter has a detention to complete."

"But, Professor, it's due tomorrow and we still have a lot of work to do. Maybe Potter can do his detention tomorrow?"

Harry's eyes narrowed as his malfunctioning brain caught up with the conversation. A Defence project? What Defence project? What the hell was Malfoy on about? And why was he trying to get him out of a punishment that he should have been crowing about?

"I don't think so. Now leave, Mr Malfoy, before I find a reason for you share Mr Potter's detention."

"Sir-"

"Do you _want_ to spend the next two hours cleaning cauldrons, Mr Malfoy?" Snape sneered.

"No, but-"

"Then _go."_

A stubborn expression crossed Draco's face. "I can't do that, Professor. Not without Harry."

The Gryffindor blinked slowly and frowned in confusion. _Harry?_

"Be that as it may, Mr Malfoy, _Harry_ is busy at the moment! Leave, before I take points from my own house!" Snape snapped.

"Take them, then. I'm not leaving without him."

Harry felt like he was watching a tennis match. Malfoy was being stubborn and not leaving for some unknown reason, and the more he insisted Harry go with him, the angrier his Head of House got. It was surreal. Snape never had anything but praise for his protégée. Harry's head was spinning again, and unfortunately, the feeling was literal. He swallowed and rubbed his eyes a few times, trying to clear the ever-growing blackness.

"You're not leaving without him?" Snape repeated in disbelief. Malfoy's mouth folded into a hard line.

"No, sir."

"Pray tell, Mr Malfoy, why ever not?" the Professor asked in his silkiest voice. Harry winced, hands clamping onto the nearest table. His legs were jelly.

"You might know the answer to that if you actually _looked_ at him, Professor. Can't you see he's sick?"

Another frown crossed Harry's features. What was wrong with the way he looked? He wasn't sick! He was fine! A hand gripped his chin and lifted it, fingers tightening almost cruelly as another hand rested on his forehead, and the Gryffindor tried his best to jerk away, but all the movement did was make the room spin faster. He was fine, really! He just needed some sleep-

"Potter? Can you hear me? Draco, go to the Hospital Wing and tell Madam Pomfrey I'm bringing her a patient."

"No," Harry croaked. "I'm fine."

"Oh yes, very fine, Potter, that's why your forehead's on fire and you're swaying on your feet. I know it might be impossible for you to stop acting like a brainless dunderhead, but do try, won't you? Go, Draco!"

"I'm fine," Harry repeated in a mumble, body sagging as if an anvil was attached to his arms and legs. A distant echo of a snort made him scowl, but then his body was moving against his will, the room tilting, which only increased the pounding pain in his head. He moaned as his hands clutched at his skull, both mind and gut churning sickly, then gasped as the black throbbed, swarmed and filled his vision. He only just caught the low string of curses that seemed to hurriedly grow in volume.

The last thing he saw before the cold, dark void sucked him under was a pair of panicked grey eyes.

~0~

It was the voices that woke him.

"This has to stop, Albus! The infection had travelled into his blood before I managed to flush it out!"

"Poppy, I'm doing everything I can, but you know my hands are tied. Her detentions are Ministry approved. If students didn't hide severe injuries like Mr Potter did, things wouldn't be nearly as bad."

"Students shouldn't even be getting severe injuries from a teacher in the first place!"

"I agree, but perhaps we could continue this discussion later? Your patient is awake."

Slowly, Harry opened his eyes, squinting against the sudden brightness. His body still felt like lead. Maybe he had been a little sick. He flinched when he felt another hand against his forehead.

"Fever's gone. Welcome back, Mr Potter. How are you feeling?" Madam Pomfrey asked as she waved her wand over his bed-ridden form.

"Like I've been hit by a train," Harry croaked, moving his head gingerly and looking at the Headmaster, who was standing on the other side of the bed. "What happened?"

"The wound on you hand was pretty badly infected, I'm afraid to say," Dumbledore answered, his tone grave. "Madam Pomfrey sorted you out, but it wouldn't have been as bad if you'd gotten it seen to as soon it happened. You shouldn't have hid it, Harry my boy."

_There wouldn't have been any point getting it seen to,_ Harry thought wearily as he lifted his right hand and stared at the heavy bandaging. _Umbitch would have just ripped it open at my next detention, anyway. This healing won't last long as it is._

"How long have I been here?" he asked, deliberately changing the subject. The Headmaster raised an eyebrow but went along with it.

"Two days. You've been unconscious since Professor Snape and Mr Malfoy brought you in, but you shouldn't be here much longer, I don't think. What's the prognosis, Madam?"

Madam Pomfrey began to rattle off a whole heap of medical mumbo jumbo, but Harry was no longer listening. His mind was caught up in the fact that _Malfoy_ had been the one to look close enough to tell he was sick. Even Hermione and Ron hadn't realized just how bad it was!

_Yes, but they had you telling them you were fine over and over,_ his mind chided him. Harry shook his head at the thought. He _had_ been fine, up until that Potions class. It wasn't really a big deal. If he'd been able to get back to his dorm and put some Murtlap on his hand-

"Mr Potter, are you listening to me? I'm afraid it'll be another day before I can release you. You need to sleep off the aftereffects of the potion I had to use to kill the infection. You won't be leaving here until dinner time tomorrow night."

"Fine, whatever," Harry muttered, wanting both the Mediwitch and the Headmaster to leave him alone. He felt like shite and his brain was swimming in confusion, an emotion that was quickly morphing into steely determination.

As soon as they let him out, he was going to find out what Malfoy's angle was. He had to have one. Maybe he was reporting back to father as that very moment.

The blond prat was definitely up to something. And Harry was going to figure out what it was.

~0~

It was the middle of the night when Harry woke again. His eyes snapped open and he sat up, senses tingling. With Seeker reflexes, his hand shot out and latched onto the arm that was just about to pass through the curtains.

"Careful, Potter. These robes cost more than you'll see in a lifetime."

"Malfoy?" Harry asked, squinting into the darkness. He jerked back when a ghostly hand entered his blurry vision.

"Oh, look, attack of the killer glasses," the disembodied voice drawled. Harry squinted at the hand and could just make out his glasses sitting on the palm. He reached for them and shoved them on, then glared in the direction the voice had come from.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

"Nothing that concerns you, Potter. Let's just pretend you never saw me, hmm?"

"I don't think so," Harry said, narrowing his eyes at the Slytherin, who was still standing in the shadows. "You've been following me for weeks. You never say a word, just stare, which is a pretty poor attempt at spying if you ask me, and _then_ you go and do what you did when Snape had me in detention? Why would you care that I was sick? That fact should have made you jump for joy!"

There was silence from his visitor. It went on for so long, Harry thought he'd somehow missed the blond leave. Finally, Malfoy spoke, though what he said only confused Harry more.

"Merlin, you really do need those glasses, don't you? I knew Gryffindors were naïve, but this takes the cake."

Insulted, Harry scowled. "What are you talking about? I'm not naïve!"

"Sure you're not, Potter. I'll be going now. It's late."

Letting out a growl as his frustration and irritation boiled over, Harry sprang out of bed, hand automatically snatching his wand from the nightstand. Malfoy raised a cool brow when the Gryffindor pointed it directly at his heart.

"As predictable as ever, I see," he murmured, a smirk tilting his mouth up for a moment. The dark-haired wizard stared at him in disbelief. Why hadn't he cowered back at the first sight of Harry's wand? The arrogant prat was standing there all calm and collected, not even looking at the stick of wood that could make him bleed if Harry wished it. Instead, he was watching the stick of wood's owner, his stare just as intense as ever. Harry only just stopped himself squirming as his heart began to slam in his chest.

"You will tell me what you're up to, and you will do it _now_, or I'll make you regret ever deciding to follow me around like a little lost lamb," he growled, hiding how uncomfortable that grey gaze was making him. Malfoy cocked his head, still staring, and then _took a step closer._

Harry gaped. His wand was now pressed into the Slytherin's chest, the tip of it right between his ribs. If it went off, there was a likely chance that Malfoy would hit the ground hard and not get up again. _What the bloody hell was he doing?_

"There's one thing I try not to do in my life, Potter, and that's regret things. I make my decisions and stand by them firmly, and I do not answer to _anyone_, not even the famous Boy-Who-Lived. So, use that if you wish, but you won't get the answers you seek. It really has nothing to do with you."

"Nothing to do with me?" Harry spat, the blond's quiet tone enraging him. Why wouldn't he just bite _back? _"It's _me_ you're following, it's _me_ you're staring at! How can it have nothing to do with me? You may as well quit while you're ahead, Malfoy, because whatever you learn won't help you or Voldemort in the long run!"

Being so close to the other wizard allowed Harry to see the abrupt stillness that settled over the Slytherin at his words, those grey eyes widening minutely. He frowned as Malfoy just stared at him. On anyone else, he would have called the emotion in Malfoy's eyes insult and hurt. But that was impossible.

Wasn't it?

"You think I'm watching you and then reporting your movements back to the Dark Lord?"

The soft tone only agitated Harry more.

"'Course you bloody are! Your father's Voldemort's right hand man!"

That impossible emotion in the blonde's eyes grew, until it was all Harry could see, and then as suddenly as a solid wooden door slamming shut, Malfoy's eyes grew cool and remote again. A familiar sneer pulled at the corner of his mouth and he drew himself up ramrod straight.

"You know nothing, Potter. And it's going to stay that way."

He took a step back and turned towards the curtains, clearly intending to leave, and Harry's temper exploded. He wasn't a fool, and he wasn't going let Malfoy continue to treat him like one! Who the bloody hell did he think he was? Hand snapping out, he caught Malfoy's arm in a vice-like grip and hauled him back around, dragging him so close they were nose to nose, his wand drilling into the other boy's chest.

"You stupid, stuckup arsehole, tell me what you're up to!"

Malfoy blinked, the grey of his eyes slowly darkening to slate, and then said, very calmly: "No."

"No? _No? _Did you just say _no?"_

"Are you deaf as well as blind, Potter?"

Unimaginable fury poured through Harry and he snarled as he jerked the boy closer still, distantly noting the way the blond's breathing had picked up, pale cheeks flushing a soft pink as the angry Gryffindor continued to shout at him.

"You can't say no, Malfoy! You and your family are evil and I _won't_ let you go through with whatever you're planning! You're going to tell me what you're playing at and you _are_ going to do it right now, or I'll-"

The escalating rant was abruptly cut off when Malfoy's head swooped down and his mouth suddenly covered Harry's. Gasping and going stock-still in shock, the Gryffindor stood there passively for a long moment as Malfoy's tongue swept out, unable to comprehend the fact that Draco Malfoy, bone-deep Slytherin and his enemy since they were eleven was kissing him. And doing a bloody good job of it, too, making Harry's head spin. The press of his mouth made Harry abruptly aware of everywhere else they were touching as well, as heat seemed to pour from each contact point; Malfoy's calf against him, their chests pressed together, Malfoy's hands framing his face, and more than anywhere else, the lips moving skilfully over his, that tongue…

Dear Merlin, that _tongue._

Wand falling unknown to the floor and hands locking onto the Slytherin's hips, a soft moan fell from Harry's lips as he began to eagerly kiss the other boy back. It was hot and heavy and slow and languid, all at the same time, and it was the best and most enjoyable thing that had ever happened to Harry. It made his heart race and his body tremble and his mind go utterly blank, and Malfoy's lips and tongue tasted so very good, and he never wanted it to end, to just go on and on and on-

But then it did end. Malfoy's hands tightened on his cheeks briefly, mouth brushing across Harry's once, twice, and then he stepped back, lips pressing together as if to savour Harry's taste. The two wizard's watched each for a heavy, pulsating moment, chest's heaving, and then a smirk slowly spread across Malfoy's face.

"I always thought showing was better than telling. Goodnight, Potter."

He turned around and stepped through the curtain before Harry could even get his brain working. Staring blankly at the now empty space in front of him, a single thought pushed it way through the fog and had the Gryffindor fumbling with the curtain and streaking towards the door.

"Wait!"

The loud whisper made Malfoy pause with his hand on the doorknob. He turned around slowly, one pale brow raised, the smirk still in his eyes.

"Yes?"

Harry skidded to a stop and blurted out what he'd, up until then, thought was the obvious.

"But you hate me."

The smirk was gone in an instant, that familiar intense, searching expression replacing it. "Do I. Even your overly heroic Gryffindor brain should be able to comprehend that sometimes appearances can be deceiving, Potter. Sometimes, they have to be."

With that cryptic comment, he opened the door and left, and Harry slowly turned and went back to his cubicle with something entirely different to mull over. Sleep remained elusive for the rest of the night as his mind turned, and when he left the Hospital Wing just before dinner the next day, Ron and Hermione flanking him, he was not at all surprised to find Malfoy waiting at the end of the hall, staring silently at him.

This time, though, Harry didn't look away.

This time, he stared right back.

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**Two years later.**

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It was over. Voldemort was dead and the war was won. Harry sat on the broken stone floor of the corridor outside the Great Hall, with his back against the wall and his knees drawn up, eyes closed in exhaustion. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this tired. No, that wasn't true. He'd been tired all the time during the hunt, but the only time he could remember that equalled the way he felt now-

"Better get that seen to, Potter. Wouldn't want another infection."

-was that potions class back in fifth year. Harry cracked his eyes open and watched through heavy lids as Malfoy sat down beside him, his shoulder pressed against Harry's. The Saviour smiled.

"But I enjoyed the last one so much," he said softly, smile growing when Malfoy snorted. He continued to watch idly as the other wizard raised his wand and muttered a spell at the large cut on Harry's leg, stopping the bleeding and closing it enough so that infection didn't set in before someone got a chance to look at it properly. Harry sighed as the pain faded and his head fell back against the wall, eyes reclosing.

"Still keeping an eye on me, I see," he whispered.

"It's my job, is it not?"

The Boy-Who-Triumphed shook his head as the other reason why Malfoy had been following him around everywhere, the reason he'd refused to tell him about, popped into his head. Apparently, he'd been 'keeping an eye on him', though not for the reasons Harry had first suspected. Far from those. It really had been his job for a time. Harry sighed, sleep tugging at his brain, but not succeeding in pulling him under. Something was building inside his chest that was preventing that escape, something he was desperately trying to hold back. He jumped slightly when a cold, unusually rough hand wrapped around his own.

"Harry."

His name. His name was all it took, the single word conveying a thousand thoughts and feelings, and immediately the dark-haired wizard turned and wrapped his arms around the Slytherin, burying his face into the warmth of the other's neck as his desperate attempts failed abysmally.

"Draco," he rasped, arms tightening as his heart boomed, boomed, boomed. "Draco, I… fuck. Oh, fuck."

The dam broke and Harry let out a whimper as he began to shake violently, silent sobs wracking his body. The pain and fear and panic he'd been living with the last few months swelled and collapsed over him, making him clench his teeth and clutch the other wizard's torn shirt in white-knuckled fists, raw emotion tearing him to pieces and escaping his mouth in harsh weeping. He was so caught up in the painful release that he wasn't aware of the doors behind him opening and his two best friends stepping through. But Draco was. The platinum-blond Slytherin, who'd turned out to be a spy along with Snape and his parents, just wrapped his arms around Harry in return and shook his head, making Ron and Hermione look at each other and then retreat back the way they came. They knew Harry was in safe hands.

Draco didn't say a thing. He didn't try to use words to comfort the man in his arms, didn't rub his back and mutter soothing noises, he just held him and let him get it out. It took a very long time, but finally Harry managed to calm down and pull himself back, cheeks wet with tears, but eyes now clear.

"Sorry," he muttered, embarrassment flooding those wet cheeks. Draco just looked at him, gaze sharp.

"Better?" was all he eventually asked. Harry nodded and sent him a wobbly smile.

"Yeah."

"Good," the Slytherin nodded. "Because you know I don't do pathetic displays of emotion."

Harry let out a watery laugh and reached over to cup Draco's cheek. "Bloody hell, I've missed you."

"Well, you know how to prevent that from happening again, don't you?" the blond wizard replied in a drawling, somewhat bored voice. Harry grinned at him.

"I do? How?"

"Just don't leave me next time."

It was stated matter-of-factly, the tone simple and direct, and Harry felt like a hand was squeezing his heart tightly as he leaned forward and laid his forehead against Draco's.

"I don't intent to."

Then their mouths were meeting and clinging and Harry gave himself up to the moment, finally able to kiss his boyfriend without the shadow of the war and their roles hanging over them. That shadow was gone, but he didn't plan on ever letting his second shadow go.

He would keep that one attached to him as long as the other wizard would let him.

* * *

**To see a little bit more of these two (a scene that takes place right after the Weasley wedding and Harry, Ron and Hermione's flight from said wedding), do go check out Reckless, an M rated semi-sequel/companion piece to this story written by yours truly. :) **


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